He slowly let out a breath, as if relieved by her belief in him. “Until this year, my own funds were enough, but like I said, the amount escalates.”
“Beat. You have to tell your mother.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “After this life she’s given me, I can handle this one goddamn thing for her. I can stop her being dragged by the press, like they did to you. Being adored is her lifeblood. And my dad . . .” He closed his eyes. “Imagine finding out the wife you’ve been worshipping for over three decades cheated and your son isn’t really your son? I can protect them from that pain.”
“It’s not your job, Beat,” she said in a shaky voice. “You won’t be able to sustain the increasing demand for money forever. Or the stress is going to kill you. Please.”
His eyes remained closed for a breath. “For now, can telling you about this be enough?”
No, she wanted to scream out of fear and frustration. “It can be a good first step,” she said, overruling the urge. “I’m glad you told me.”
A touch of tension left his bunched shoulders. “I’m glad, too.”
She curled her fingers into the hem of her skirt and squeezed. “Who is he?”
“No one of consequence to you, Mel.” His tone held a note of warning. “If you think I’m being unreasonable by protecting my parents from this, you don’t want to see how I’d react if this bullshit came anywhere near you.”
The flash of malice in his gaze gave Melody some idea. She had no choice but to refrain from pressing the issue. For now. She needed him to continue to confide in her. Needed him to be comfortable opening up to her so she could help him. Patience was key. If he’d told no one, not a single person in five years of suffering through the constant blackmail, tonight’s progress was big enough already. “Do you want a drink?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Go sit on the couch. I’ll bring it in.”
With a weary nod, Beat stood, braced his hands on the breakfast bar for a moment, and watched her beneath drawn-together brows. Then he pushed off and went toward the living room, sinking down onto the couch. Melody retrieved a bottle of whiskey from her cabinet, which she’d actually bought for a cupcake recipe, eons ago, and poured him a glass. After some thought, she poured herself one, too, and carried both into the living area.
Her stocking-clad feet didn’t make a sound. That was probably why he didn’t hear her coming. Probably why he crushed her nightshirt to his nose and inhaled roughly, making a low sound, before doing it again. Desperately taking in the scent of her, no idea she watched from the space in between the kitchen and the living area, her pulse accelerating, a sandbag dropping low, low, low in her belly.
Knowing she had to make her presence known soon, Melody took a step—and the floorboard beneath her foot creaked. Beat dropped the nightshirt guiltily, raking a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, as if knowing he’d been caught.
Melody set the drinks down on her coffee table and sat down beside him.
She only survived five seconds without looking sideways at him, cherishing the way the lamplight highlighted and shadowed his cheekbones, rejoicing in the way he looked in her apartment, among her things. And then she urged him down onto the couch so he was lying on his side. After a few moments of studying him—savoring his quickened breathing, the expansion of his pupils—she followed suit, lying on her side in front of him, her back to his chest.
When his forearm wrapped around her hips and drew her closer, slowly, and she felt his physical reaction to holding her so intimately, she admitted to herself that going slow might have been ambitious. With Beat finding the courage to confide in her, the night had become them against the world. She’d never felt more connected to another person in her life . . . and she couldn’t help wanting to get even closer.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was by the grace of God that Beat didn’t roll Melody onto her back and devour her.
This woman was his refuge, the fulfillment of his lust, his heart. So important. And his body just wanted to show her that. His mouth wanted to communicate it to her in ways he couldn’t. Christ, not yet. He’d just dropped a ton of bricks onto her head by coming clean about the blackmail and he’d done it right on the heels of her asking to go slow.
Slowly into . . . what?
A relationship? What a hilarious word for this bond between them.
Melody Gallard knew the floor plan of his soul. This transcended a mere relationship.
Still, going slowly made a hell of a lot of sense. They’d taken a tandem dive into the deep end without learning how to swim together first. She had enough grace to allow him a second chance and he didn’t want to squander it. Keeping his hands to himself, however, was like asking him to stop his heart from beating.
Impossible.
He buried his mouth in her snow-dampened hair, pressing his chest to her spine so she could feel the way his heart pounded, heavy and fast. In response, she took his hand from where it was molding her hip, guiding it between her tits and flattening his palm there, because this generous, perfect person wanted him to know her heart raced just as fast. And fuck, she rolled her ass in his lap at the same time, making him see double.
“You make me feel so good to be hard,” he groaned into the back of her neck. “That’s how I know . . . I wasn’t doing this right until you. I wasn’t just enjoying it, I was giving myself an excuse not to trust anybody. But I can’t hold back my enjoyment of you, Mel . . . because it’s impossible. I don’t want to keep anything from you ever again, inside of bed or out.”
“Good,” she whispered unsteadily. “I need all of you.”
Those words washed over him like a baptism. God, he’d never felt more grateful and alive and hungry. So hungry for this woman that his palm skated downward from between her tits, traveling over her stomach, stopping just beneath her belly button. “Tell me what you mean when you say all of me, Mel.”
“I want you to confide in me. Be honest with me, no exceptions.”
“I can. I will,” he breathed against the nape of her neck. “What about with my body? Can I touch you everywhere?”
“Yes.”
He flipped up the hem of her skirt and slowly, roughly gripped her pussy. “You want me to fuck you until I come inside of this?”
She moaned, her legs squeezing around his clutching hand. “Please.”
“I need to hear the words.” His middle and ring finger massaged her through the dampening cotton of her panties. “I need to know I’ve got permission for what I’m going to do between your thighs tonight.”
“You have permission.”
“Mel.”
“Fuck me until you come,” she whispered. “Inside of me.”
It almost ended then and there, his vision expanding in a rush, his balls quickening until they felt like fucking concrete. “Damn,” he grated. “I’m going to have to keep your mouth occupied before it finishes me. We’re only getting started.”
She looked back at him over her shoulder, face flushing to a deeper shade of rose every time he stroked her, her panties growing more sodden by the second. “What did you have in mind?”